


when you would stay

by moodmaker



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Drinking, M/M, Slice of Life, Strangers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:49:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27840274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodmaker/pseuds/moodmaker
Summary: Jaemin opens up a bar on the outskirts of Seoul; Renjun is his only regular.
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Na Jaemin
Comments: 13
Kudos: 56





	when you would stay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lateralplosion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lateralplosion/gifts).



> happy belated birthday lav! i love that when we first became friends we had some conversation that went like “oh since our birthdays are close together it’d be nice to write fics for each other as gifts! but november’s such a busy time of year.” and then this year we both not only secretly tried to anyway but also failed to get them written on time… #just_[INSERT CHART PLACEMENT THAT MAKES IT SO]_things. i love you and hope that you enjoy <333
> 
> title from honey - magic man

_有缘无分: When two people are fated to meet but not destined to last._

Renjun doesn’t want to admit it, but all the signs are there—street names in front of him not lining up with the ones on the paper map he’d swiped from the company lobby, thighs aching from climbing more flights of stairs than he’s ever seen in his life, minutes ticking by the longer that he crouches by the side of the road, alone.

A couple of passersby on motorcycle leer at him, revving the engine purposefully louder than necessary as they speed past him. Renjun shuts his eyes and exhales, slow. He’s spent an entire month in Korea already but his phone is still all in Chinese. The only new apps he’d bothered downloading before he moved were KakaoTalk and Naver Dictionary. He figured that he’d only be going to the company building and back, so there was no need to add a map to the list. That’d only increase his phone bill.

Renjun stares miserably at the criss-crossing wires of the utility poles above him, somehow distinct from the ones in front of his apartment building. Usually, the client comes to them. Today, it’d been the other way around.

He should’ve downloaded a fucking map.

(“How are you only twenty-six and already this technologically illiterate?” Chenle had groaned back then, the words coming out muffled over the phone. He’d been unbearably fussy the week before Renjun was set to leave for Korea, demanding to know Renjun’s packing list and why it didn’t include at least six different devices by which he could “stay tethered to the Motherland.”

Rich, considering that Chenle’s Apple Watch was just for show. “For _fashion,_ ” Chenle corrected snippily when Renjun pointed this out. 

He switched tacks then. "How are you already twenty-five and still actually illiterate?"

Chenle hung up on him in response.)

The sun’s starting to go creamsicle orange, as if the headlights of the cars going by were slowly bleeding out into the sky. One of them gets a little too close to him and honks in outrage, like how dare Renjun loiter outside when he has an uninspired takeout box waiting for him back at his place.

Renjun kicks at a stone on the ground. He wants to eat his leftover bibimbap too, okay?

There’s a shuffle of movement across the street. Someone’s watching him, he realizes, hands going clammy at the thought. He looks up to make eye contact anyway. No use in avoiding it.

A guy’s standing at the back of a run-down bar, face somehow handsome despite being distorted through the glass. He’s wearing the standard button-down and vest of a bartender, smiling, like he knows how good he looks. Probably does. 

He cocks his head to the door when he realizes that Renjun’s looking back at him. _Come inside?_

Renjun coughs, feeling his cheeks heat up slightly as he does so. He has to give it to him—the guy sure knows how to advertise.

Still, Renjun turns back to his map. He has to get back before night settles in.

He takes one last look before he starts walking again, mentally taking down the name of the place.

Maybe some other time.

Jaemin doesn’t really expect to see the guy again—he’d looked lost and a little frantic, staring blankly at the map in front of him as he paced from one end of the street to the other, before finally making sense of his surroundings and setting off home. That was how most people who wandered into their part of the city acted: like it was a mistake just to be there. 

He knows his place is new, and new isn’t attractive in Haebangchon. Not his kind of new at least. Right now their neighborhood is morphing asymmetrically toward a cleaner, brighter future. _Development is good for business,_ boast the landlords that come in sometimes for a drink. Jaemin chooses not to ask about how the dabang around the corner shutting down in the months that rent started skyrocketing was considered “development.” Unfortunately he has to do whatever’s good for business, too.

Like not startling too much when the guy drops by again at the same time the next day. 

Jaemin busies himself with organizing the station, trying to act disinterested. Today the guy’s wearing a red tie, tucked unevenly underneath one lapel. Jaemin thinks about adjusting it for him and then brushes the thought off as soon as it comes. There are _boundaries._

No one wearing something like that would be caught dead in this part of the city, so he has to be an expat. Or from the military base further south, maybe. Either way, Jaemin’s not about to ask questions. He’ll take the money wherever he can get it.

“What can I get for you?” He sidles up to ask, when it’s clear that the guy isn’t going to make the first move. He makes sure to smile, wide.

The guy shakes his head a little. “I’ll take a shot of maotai,” he says. There’s a confidence in his tone that isn’t present in his stature. Probably comes from the way his words roll off his tongue. His accent’s hardly there. Wouldn’t even be, if Jaemin hadn’t been purposefully listening for it.

“Coming right up,” he says, even though he only vaguely recognizes the drink named. It’s something Donghyuck brought back after a business conference in China. Said it tasted like shit and bought twelve bottles of the stuff anyway. Donated six of them to Jaemin. Now Jaemin’s struggling to offload it all.

To his delight the guy takes the shot from him, downs it all in one go, and holds his glass back out for a refill.

Jaemin takes it with a quirk of his lips. It’s only been a while, but he knows the silent ones are the good ones. Sure enough, by the third shot the guy’s leaning back in his chair, head tipped back. “I needed that,” he exhales.

“You might get lost again, at the rate you’re going.” Jaemin replies. He’s wiping down the counter, but he feels the other’s gaze on him even without looking up. He meets it head-on.

The guy huffs at that, amused. “Shouldn’t you be happy about that?” He takes a knowing glance around the room. “Seems like you could use the business.”

Jaemin’s face nearly flushes, but he catches himself before he can get all the way there. He grunts, mildly impressed. “I doubt my reputation will improve by giving you alcohol poisoning.” 

The guy barks out a laugh. It’s loud—definitely accidental, by the way his hands fly up to cover his mouth right afterward. Still, it’s a nice laugh. Jaemin wouldn’t mind hearing it again.

"Well," the guy's eyes twinkle, expression bright in the dim light of the bar. "I guess I'll have to come back and see, won't I?"

Jaemin grins. "Guess you will."

Renjun starts going more frequently. He tells himself it’s good, that he’s exploring more. Haebangchon is trendy now, according to all the tourist sites. The stairs and hills kill him every day, but he supposes that’s penance for all the money he wastes at the bar. Maybe the exercise will cancel out the alcohol, or something.

“That’s not how it works,” Jaemin snorts. Renjun had made sure to read the guy’s name tag, after his second time there.

Jaemin turns to the guy next to him, who’s too engrossed in his phone to man the bar properly. “Jisung, tell Renjun that he’s being stupid.”

“He’s being stupid,” the guy parrots without looking up from his phone.

Renjun snorts. “That’s convincing.”

Jisung doesn’t respond to that. Toon Blast must be really engaging.

Jaemin jerks a thumb back at him and mouths, _resurgence of puberty._

Renjun has to bite his lip to hold back his laughter, even though it’s not funny in the slightest. That’s just how Jaemin is.

He starts dropping by more often. Goes not just on Fridays but on Saturdays, too. Even on weekdays, though he takes care not to drink enough to feel the consequences of it the next day. He doesn’t hate his job that much.

“You literally come here to drown your sorrows in alcohol,” Jisung points out. He’s decided that making fun of Renjun is more important than his phone today.

Jaemin elbows him very inconspicuously. “Let’s not be too critical of the regular, _paying_ customer, yeah?”

“Just say my descent into alcoholism benefits you and go,” Renjun says, then turns to fix Jisung with a look. “You would too if you had to look at expense reports all day.”

“Stop,” Jisung winces, covering his ears. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“Budgeting,” Renjun says dryly. “Projections, payroll—”

“Don’t bully the kid,” Jaemin admonishes, dramatically shielding Jisung behind him.

These days Renjun is far from the only one there. Foot traffic has started to pick up a little, as more and more people are trickling in from Itaewon. Jaemin’s been thinking about hiring someone else alongside Jisung, but he hasn’t gone through with it yet. Popularity is fleeting—they only have so long before the big businesses start noticing and buying everyone out. He’s trying to be careful, Renjun guesses.

It’s a bit of a weird look on him. No one starts a bar by being careful. Renjun’s finding that that’s about the only time Jaemin _isn’t_ careful: he’s careful in the way that he smooths down his uniform, careful in the way that he laughs, careful in the way he talks about his friends. Not necessarily guarded, but as if there’s something worth protecting there. Renjun kind of wishes Jaemin would speak that way about him, too.

He downs another shot before he can let himself dwell on that for any longer.

Jaemin calls home after the third month.

It’s a bad idea, he knows—Donghyuck has repeatedly tried to talk him out of it already. He wishes he could blame it on the alcohol, or something, but he’s been sober the entire night they’d been out. Couldn’t risk missing the bus back. Couldn’t risk showing up to work hungover either, even if he’s the one who owns the place.

He can’t help it though, he’s sentimental at heart. Donghyuck’s already talking about heading home for the holidays. Jisung told him what days he’d need off. Jaemin will likely pass the time furtively putting down roots in a place that’s trying to tear him out. It’s a hopeless endeavor, but Jaemin’s taking it on anyway.

Just like this phone call.

He braces himself as the line rings—and rings, and rings, and rings.

He doesn’t know what he’d been expecting. His parents had made it very clear what they thought of him the last time they’d talked. Still, his mind pulls him invariably toward last Friday, where he’d seen Renjun cradling to his ear. He’d seemed younger then, almost, eyes growing impossibly rounder as he listened to whatever the person on the other end of the line was saying.

“Girlfriend?” Jaemin asked when he’d hung up.

Renjun wrinkled his nose before shaking his head. “Mom,” he clarified.

Jaemin nodded and turned away, chest lighter after he’d re-contextualized the interaction in his head.

But Jaemin is no stranger to himself, and certainly not to his feelings, after all the nights he’s spent alone in the 2AM quiet, watching the shadows on his wall fade as the last buses of the night drive by. He knows what this is.

He stares down at the phone in his hand. Donghyuck texts him, right on cue: Apeach emphatically shaking his head. 

He dials the number anyway.

There’s someone new manning the bar the next time Renjun drops by.

“You’re not Jisung,” he says, even though in the back of his mind a voice that sounds suspiciously like Chenle’s is whining, _that’s rude, ge!_

The guy in front of him, thankfully, isn’t ruffled by the statement. There’s a renewed interest in his eyes instead, before he realizes that he probably shouldn’t be so openly eager and adjusts accordingly. “You must be Renjun.”

Renjun’s eyes dart to the other’s name tag. _Sungchan,_ it reads. So Jaemin had brought someone new on board in the end.

“Your usual?” Sungchan says.

Renjun blinks. He hadn’t realized that the bar knew his order already. Then again, he’s been coming here steadily for the past two months—he supposes it’d be weird if they didn’t know, actually. He nods at Sungchan and the guy disappears into the back.

“What do you think of him?”

“What,” he snorts, as Jaemin steps into view. “You want my opinion?”

Jaemin shrugs. “Your comfort matters to me.”

And he’s saying this from a purely business standpoint, but the words do something to Renjun’s chest anyway. He quells it, forcibly. “He’s fine enough.”

Jaemin nods, like Renjun’s just said something of utmost importance, and moves away to tend to someone else.

The words are still spinning around in Renjun’s head a couple of hours later, three drinks in. The same way as whenever he’d press _eject_ on the DVD player, waiting patiently until the discs slowed to a stop. He still has it somewhere, buried in the back of his luggage. Probably time to throw it out though—the DVD lady two blocks down has already been airbrushed over by a convenience store chain. 

A new thought creeps in, traitorous and ugly. _That could happen to Jaemin, too._

Renjun makes eye contact with Sungchan then, who smiles at him briefly before turning back to Jisung and listening raptly as he explains how to work the dishwasher. Jisung’s ears are glowing pink under the attention. Renjun can already tell by the glint in Jaemin’s eye that he’s never going to let him live it down.

 _No,_ he thinks, blinking rapidly. _He’ll find a way._

It snows for the first time that year when Jaemin sees Renjun next. He walks in, waves off the drink that Jisung’s already started making in the back, and says, quietly, “I’m going back to China for break.”

“That’s great,” Sungchan chirps from the side, grinning. The place is a lot quieter today, so Jaemin doesn’t have white noise to distract himself from his thoughts.

A lot has changed over the weeks. Their initial boom dies out. Or rather, it’s redirected—he knows that there’s a new set of name-brand stores lining Garosu-gil’s streets every day. It was only a matter of time before it happened to their corner of the city, too.

“Jaemin?” Renjun calls out, already gathering his things to go. _Right,_ Jaemin remembers. Can’t drink the night before a flight. “I’ll see you when I get back?”

“Yeah,” Jaemin says, voice already distant to his own ears. “See you.”

Renjun holds the door open for someone else on his way out, someone who Jaemin instantly straightens up at the sight of. He’s seen the man around before—neatly-pressed blazer, coiffed hair, silver glinting off his wrist. The construction workers of every new business talk about him behind his back, when they get into some of the harder stuff. Jaemin knows what comes next.

Just as well. He’s running out of maotai for Renjun to drink as it is.

He makes sure to turn the charm up when he greets him. “What can I get for you?”

Korea is a lot warmer than Renjun remembers it being—which isn’t saying much, considering that he’d just spent nearly two weeks in Jilin. He touches down in Incheon just fifteen minutes after sunset, watching the remains of it splash out over the sky on the AREX to Seoul. He passes the time by mentally recounting all of the things that he needs to tell Jaemin. Eventually the list grows so long that he has to start repeating it under his breath like a mantra.

_My mom still makes the best dumplings I’ve ever had. Chenle’s still whining about how single he is. I still like you, even four hundred miles away. I hope you like me, too._

He turns onto the street of the bar, watching as the skyscrapers give way to an alley of small businesses—

Except Jaemin’s isn’t among them.

Renjun counts once, counts twice, stops in front of the spot that he used to spend his nights at. The windows are taped over with plastic tarp. _FOR RENT,_ reads a sign tacked hastily on the door.

Jaemin hadn’t said anything. Renjun shakes his head—of course he hadn’t, they weren’t that close, or anything. They hadn’t even traded phone numbers. Believed that their time in that one room was enough.

Still, Renjun should’ve seen it coming: the shortened hours, the shrinking menu, the long phone calls. For a moment he lets himself imagine what would’ve happened if he hadn’t left, as if he could’ve done something. Said goodbye, maybe.

He turns on his heel to make the long trudge back to his place. Looks like he’ll need to find another bar that serves maotai.

**Author's Note:**

> please let me know what you thought and/or come find me here! ⟶ [twitter](https://twitter.com/mythsick) / [cc](https://curiouscat.me/dedication)


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